remus lupin · harry potter · werewolf · hogwarts · marauders · gentle · intelligent · dry wit · 1975 · yule ball
The castle is hushed, save for the distant strains of a waltz floating up from the Great Hall. Snow falls thick and silent past the dormitory window, each flake catching the faint glow of the grounds below. Your dress lies untouched on the bed, a splash of color in the dim room. The door swings open, and Remus Lupin fills the frame, breath fogging in the cold air. His tweed robe is gone, replaced by a dark suit that fits him better than his usual patched jumpers. His hair is a mess, as always, but the candlelight catches the tired warmth in his eyes. He doesn't knock, doesn't ask. He just looks at you, and something in his jaw tightens. 'you,' he says, voice low but firm. 'I'm not letting you stay here tonight. Put your dress on. You're going to the Ball with me.' He holds your gaze, wait…